


Feyre meets one of Rhysand's ex-lovers, and she has the surprise of the century with her

by sarah_bae_maas



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 23:14:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16963305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarah_bae_maas/pseuds/sarah_bae_maas
Summary: originally posted September 21st, 2016.





	Feyre meets one of Rhysand's ex-lovers, and she has the surprise of the century with her

Feyre knew when she looked at Rhysand and this woman, Helena, that they had once been lovers. You could tell in the way that they acted around each other. The familiarity in which they spoke, the way they knew the actions of the other almost subconsciously. It was to be expected that eventually Feyre would meet someone like this from his past. They both had lovers before. Rhysand’s mostly nameless, and Feyre had Tamlin and Isaac. This woman was beautiful. She was tall and elegant. She had flawless dark skin and even darker eyes that matched her long black braids.

They had barely been together, Rhys explained thorough the bond. Barely a decade and only when they saw each other at diplomatic events around 400 years ago, for she was nobility from the day court, her cousin the High Lord, who they would always sneak around because of his ever-present disapproval which amused them endlessly.

This was to be expected. Neither Rhys nor Feyre were chaste when they met and they would never judge each other when it came to their past dalliances.

What was unexpected was this woman, _Helena_ , Feyre reminded herself, claiming that her only child was Rhys’s bastard.

—–

“Feyre, please say something,” Rhys begged his mate.

They had just left the luncheon where Helena had revealed her most guarded secret; that her son was sired by Rhys.

Of course the first response the two daemati had was to make sure that Helena was telling the truth, and Feyre hadn’t spoken since they both realised that she was. Helena’s thoughts were dominated by the knowledge that her son, if Rhys didn’t have more children, was the current heir to the Night Court, a place he had never even been. They were dominated of memories of her being shunned for claiming not to know who the father was and guarding that secret with every fibre in her body.

She had known, as Rhys had known, that any child born from him would be prey for any other court to hunt.

Rhys tried to touch his mate but she shrugged from his grasp.

“Come with me,” he asked, “come with me to meet the child-”

“Child?” She scoffed. “This _child_ is 400 years my senior.”

“Feyre please don’t be mad-”

“I’M NOT MAD.” Her gritted teeth, clenched fists and heavy breathing said otherwise but he refrained from mentioning it.

“Feyre-”

“Why now? Why throw this on us now when we’re finally happy? When there’s no war, no Hybern, nothing to for us to worry about?” She cried.

“The reason is probably because of everything you just said, Feyre. There’s no longer a threat to Prythian, my name is no longer scorned. I was once Amarantha’s Whore and now I’m the honourable consort of Feyre Cursebreaker. If there was ever a time to let the Courts know that I have a son…” Rhysand trailed off. He couldn’t continue when he saw his mate breaking before his eyes.

Her arms were now wrapped around herself, as if they could protect her from this and her face gave away all the feelings that were running through her in one expression.

“I have to go.” She whispered.

“Feyre please…” Rhys was not above begging. Begging her to stay with him, begging her to help him.

“I have to go, Rhysand.” She said louder, and with more conviction. Using his full name was a blow he didn’t expect, and he found himself flinching back.

She turned to leave, to winnow or to fly he didn’t know, but she spun back to him as if she changed her mind.

Instead of bolting away like he expected her to, she strode to him and grabbed onto the front of shirt with one hand, the other going for his hair. Their lips met in a brutal but passionate kiss, his arms encircling her waist as though that was all it would take to keep her there.

When she broke away, she was still close enough that every word she spoke caressed his face.

“I’m not mad, Rhys, but I have to go. I can’t be here when you meet him, I can’t look in the face of the child you’ve had with another woman and embrace it the way you want me too. I know I can with time, but right now I don’t know how I can possibly love him, even if he’s from you.” Her voice broke at the end of her sentence and she kissed her mate, her husband, her equal, once more. “I will never leave you Rhys, I will always come back. _But right now I can’t be here_.”

And with that, she winnowed away.

——-

Feyre was conflicted.

She wasn’t lying when she told Rhys that she wasn’t angry with him. No, what had settled in Feyre was a deep sense of disappointment and sadness. Not for the High Lord, but for herself.

She was disappointed in her reaction to the news. When Helena had told her and Rhys about her son she had done it with as much respect and dignity that one could in a situation like that, and Feyre had responded by staring at her as if she were a fire drake in their lounge and not a high fae. She then proceeded to not utter a single word to Helena, leaving Rhys to ask all the questions.

_How old is he? Where was he born? What is his name? Does he know? Have you always known he was mine? How did this happen? What does he know of the Night Court? What does he look like?_

She had answered everything flawlessly and truthfully.

_He’s 396, the Day Court, Elijah, No, Yes, we weren’t careful enough, only what he’s heard from others, like you._

She was telling the truth, and both Feyre and Rhys knew it.

Feyre was overwhelmed with sadness for completely selfish reasons.

Firstly, she honestly didn’t know what she was supposed to do with this, what did she call him? She can’t call him a child, he’s four centuries old, the words _Rhys’s son_ make her blanch and she would never call him a bastard.

Elijah, she settled on. She’d just call him by his given name.

She didn’t know how she was supposed to act around or treat Elijah, and that thought alone made her sick. What if this caused a permanent rift between her and Rhys? What if they turned into the kind of mates his parents were, grateful for each other’s existence but better apart?

She was also sad for another reason.

When Rhys had children, had heirs, she always thought that they would be with her.

——

“Are you ready Rhys?”

It had been three days since Feyre had left and Mor made it her duty to stand beside Rhys in every step of this journey.

“No,” he answered honestly.

He and Mor were preparing to go to the Day Court where he would meet his son.

Rhys was so nervous he found it hard to breathe. He couldn’t concentrate, he couldn’t stop shaking, and he had no idea how he was going to do this.

He voiced this to Mor who hushed him.

“You’ll be fine Rhys. This is the hardest part and once this is over everything will be so much easier.”

“I need her, Mor.”

Mor knew he was talking about Feyre, but there was nothing she could do in that department. Even if Mor knew where Feyre had hidden herself away, she had no idea what she would even say to her friend to try and convince her to come back. That was unsurprising with Feyre. Once she made a decision it was hard to convince her of anything otherwise.

“I’m sorry, Rhys. We don’t have time to find her before we winnow to the Day Court.”

“No time will be needed.”

Both Mor and Rhys turned at the new voice in the room, to see Feyre standing there.

Rhys let out a whimper and ran to his mate. Feyre held out her arms, catching him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he buried his face in her neck and pulled her to him.

_“You’re here you’re here you’re here,”_

Mor could hear him muttering it over and over again.

Feyre had decided to come when she heard her mate practically screaming his nerves through the bond, and when she decided that no matter what petty issues she had with this situation she needed to be here to support her mate like he had through every one of her discretions.

His relief was palpable, and she moved away from him only far enough so that she could kiss him. He clutched her and deepened the kiss, and it wasn’t until Mor not-so-subtle cleared her throat to get their attention.

“We need to go, Rhys. It’s time.” She told them.

Rhys nodded and kissed Feyre again.

“What changed your mind?” He had to know before he left.

“I realised that I was being idiotic. There is nothing that you do that isn’t perfect to me Rhys. You are inherently good, and if this… man, is half the fae you are then he must be pretty fucking spectacular.”

Mor came over and rested one of her hands on each of their shoulders.

“I hate to interrupt, but we _really_ need to go.”

Rhys nodded and he and Feyre let go of each other.

“I’ll be waiting right here, take as long as you need.” She told him.

“I love you,”

“And I love you.”

—–

This was it. This was the moment Rhysand was going to meet his child.

He and Mor had winnowed to the Day Court and now waited in an outer court yard for Helena to bring her son to meet his father. The court yard was nice enough. Situated in the middle of a hedge maze so that this moment could be private from the nosey courtiers, Rhys and Mor sat on quaint concrete benches that surrounded a fountain.

“I’m still not ready.” Rhys told his cousin.

“I don’t think anyone is when they become a parent for the first time.”

“I’ve missed so much of his life already. I don’t know how I’m going to make up for that.” He admitted.

“You’ll find a way to manage, you always do.”

Rhys and Mor heard footsteps approaching, and rose for the entrance of Helena and her son.

As soon as they saw him…

They knew instantly. This man was not the son of the High Lord of the Night Court.

——

Feyre poured the bubbly water down the back of her mate.

It had now been four days since Rhys’s disastrous encounter with Helena and her child, and Feyre was doing everything in her power to make her mate relax.

He had been so high strung since he, with the help of Mor, had to explain that no, Elijah was not his son, and yes, he was sure.

As soon as they could scent him they knew it was another man that had sired him. Any resemblance to Rhys came from the slight resemblance that anyone who came from the same place had. The same kind of resemblance he shared with Azriel or Cassian.

In the defence of Helena, she really did believe that it was Rhys who fathered her child, but now both she and Rhys had to face the fact that she had been with someone else, and that someone else was the actual father.

 _“It was only once,”_ She had cried.

Rhys felt terrible for her. He couldn’t even begin to fathom having a belief so fundamental to who you are changed in a matter of minutes.

“Stop thinking about it, Rhys.” Feyre said as she put soap into Rhys’s hair to wash it.

Bathing with her mate had always been a sure fire way to get him to calm down and stop being so tense, and it was one of the last things that Feyre could think to do.

She had tried doting on him, pleasuring him, painting for him, making jokes, but nothing that usually worked to stop him brooding was doing the trick.

She knew that he felt guilty despite the fact that he had done nothing wrong.

“I can’t,” He finally chocked out.

He ducked his head under the water, rinsing the soap from his hair. When he came up, he turned to face Feyre, resting their foreheads together. Her fingers gently stroked down his face, wiping away the water from his hair but also comforting him.

“I feel terrible for them.”

“There’s no need to,” Feyre replied.

“I kept telling Mor I wasn’t ready, but I would’ve been. If it actually happened, if I actually had a child, I would try as hard as I could to be the best father possible.”

“You don’t need to convince me, Rhys. I already know.”

Feyre brushed a kiss to his forehead.

“I feel guilty for being relieved that he isn’t mine.” Rhys confessed.

“Don’t do that to yourself Rhys. Just use this whole experience to know that when you do have a child then you’ll be the best father possible.”

He hummed in acknowledgment.

“There is no one else I would want as the father to my children.”

At that, Rhys smiled at his wife, knowing that her words were true.

“You are mine,” she continued, “and I am yours. And one day we’ll have a whole herd of children to call our own,” Rhys laughed at her words and drew her into an embrace. “But for now, let’s enjoy it being just the two of us, okay?”

“Okay, Feyre darling.”


End file.
